Two short stanzas turn a familiar moment, coming home at dawn, into something stranger. The speaker imagines morning as a place where night catches sight of them "going home in secret." Night becomes a watcher, almost a lookout, and the speaker becomes the sort of person who slips along unseen, like a thief who hasn't quite got away with it.
The title, "Burglar," then starts to matter. In the second stanza the speaker says everything they own is "in this rogue world of my eye." What they've stolen, it seems, is not an object but what they have seen. Their eye is a wild, unruly place that doesn't follow ordinary rules, and it holds all their wealth.
The mood is quiet, private, and a little thrilled. There's a sense of guilt, but also pride in carrying off something only the speaker can see. The poem suggests that attention itself can be a kind of treasure.